


body is a cage

by Anonymous



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Demonic Beast, Extremely Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Nightmares, Other, Self-Hatred, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:48:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27316519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The last thing Sylvain wants is peace.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Miklan
Kudos: 14
Collections: Anonymous, FE3H Monsterfucking Weekend 2020





	body is a cage

The last thing Sylvain wants is peace.

They have it, or a sense of it, something carefully manicured by the Church and the royals and set up to fail, to be broken into pieces. The day will come; so, Sylvain passes the time warming other people's beds, keeping the dread at bay. And it works, until it doesn't.

It works, until he finds Miklan again. 

The Black Beast is a far cry from the brother Sylvain grew up with. Cruel and violent and snarling -- sure, those parts are the same. But where Miklan kept himself at bay, choking down resentment until it flooded his lungs, the Beast is _free_ , unencumbered by silly human notions.

Miklan used to look at Sylvain across crowded rooms with hunger; jealousy and bitterness and lust all in equal measures. He hits Sylvain, hurts him, but never touches him, like it’s a line he’s drawn in the snow, the one reservation he allows.

Sylain hates it. Not that Miklan looks at him like that, but that he never _does_ anything about it. If he hates Sylvain so much, why not? Why not give him what he deserves?

The Beast has no such reservations. It takes and it takes, unencumbered by human thoughts. It hurts Sylvain like he should be; fucks him like he should be.

“F-Fuck, okay- okay, go-” Sylvain is already flushed with want by the time the Beast’s cock presses up against him, rutting against Sylvain’s back, thick precome dripping down to gather in the dimples of his lower back. “Stupid beast-”

It’s always a messy thing, rutting in the dark like animals. Miklan is supposed to be dead, and the Beast along with him. But he lives, in Sylvain’s dreams, something to be feared.

Instead, he seeks it out. A new, waking nightmare.

The Beast is growling, drool falling from yellowed teeth. It’s hard to maneuver like this, to press his waiting hole back against the Beast’s massive cock, but Sylvain’s always been a problem-solver, hasn’t he? The head of it slips against him, finally finding purchase, and with an animalistic roar, the head pushes in - one rough, careless thrust.

The air leaves Sylvain’s lungs in one breath, mouth falling open in a silent scream. He scrambles against the broken stone floor, hands sliding in the mess of drool and precome, until he falls forward. Miklan - the Beast - follows, pressing down hard into Sylvain, and Sylvain can feel it in his guts, rearranging his worthless body, making space for something obscene and inhuman and violent. 

It’s what he wanted, what he _needed_ \-- wasn’t it?

The Beast is roaring now, pleased with its feast, fucking down into Sylvain with rough, selfish thrusts. It’s claws crack the stone beneath, splintering the very ground Sylvain is laying on, and all he can do is let himself be used, let the Beast take what it needs. Pain and pleasure mix like a heady cocktail in his gut, and Sylvain pushes back weakly, impaling himself further, if that were even possible. The ground beneath is rough against his own cock, half-soft as it grinds against the tile floor. It doesn’t matter, his own pleasure has never mattered.

 _Slut,_ they call him. _Whore_. What’s a pleasure, truly, is to prove them right.

Sylvain’s wailing echoes around the empty, ruined room, desperate lewd noises mingling with the wet slap of the Beast’s cock against him, its balls hitting Sylvain’s ass hard enough to leave him reddened and sore.

“Fuck me, _fuck_ me-” Sylvain’s voice hitches up to a whine. _Pathetic_ , he imagines Miklan saying. _The great Gautier heir, huh?_

Why didn’t Miklan ever touch him, Sylvain wonders. Was Sylvain so pathetic, even back then, that Miklan was so reviled by him? He’s not proud of the way he fixates on it, even as his lance spears his big brother through the chest, as his life comes to a bloodstained end. _Are you proud? For holding out, big brother?_

Maybe this is Sylvain’s revenge - to break his brother down to a monster and finally shed all that pretense.

The Beast is pounding at him now, using Sylvain’s body like a tight sleeve, bumping up against parts of his body that it shouldn’t ruining him for anyone else. Actually, full stop - ruining him. Period.

He’ll survive; he’s done this before. He’ll do it again. Sylvain closes his eyes, bracing himself against the floor as the Beast presses in that impossible bit further as it comes, flooding Sylvain’s guts with white. The monster’s cock has a knot, Sylvain knows - he can feel it, bumping up against the rim of his ruined hole. It’s too large to press inside, so it sits against his ass like a threat. Sylvain thinks, not for the first time, of taking it, of forcing himself. It would crack his pelvis, he knows, would probably kill him to sit down on that knot and let himself be fully bred, fully owned. Would they find his body like that, he wonders? His classmates, would they be sad? Would they think it was a sick joke? Would they think it was a fitting end for a whore like him?

“M-Mik--” Sylvain comes, but it’s far from satisfying, just a dribble of fluid from his half-hard cock as Miklan pulls out, each torturous inch of the Beast’s cock feeling like it will turn Sylvain inside out.

The Beast yawns - if it could do such a thing - and slumps to the side, falling asleep with a rumbling snore.

Sylvain is alive. He’s in one piece. How disappointing.

One day, Sylvain will have to kill Miklan for real - kill not just him, but the part of himself that craves him, that still aches for the ghost of a brother that he could have been. Sylvain will have to tear that part of his heart out with blackened fingers.

He won’t, today.


End file.
